A Parfit, Gentil Knyght
by Fortitudine
Summary: Pre-Columbine. What's an outlaw to do when a sad little Cinderella needs a Prince?


**A Parfit, Gentil Knyght**

_What then is Chivalry? So strong a thing, and of such hardihood, and so costly in the learning, that a wicked man or low dare not undertake it._ ~ (Sir William Marshall)

When Tim O'Connor hired his first-born out to the Jacobsens, thirty miles away in Saddlestring, he did so for the simple reason that the family expenses would be reduced by one less hungry young mouth, and the family coffers at the same time enhanced by the magnificent sum of two and a half good Yankee dollars each week, payable directly into the waiting hand of Tim O'Connor. It made no difference to him that ten-year-old Katie rose each dawn and spent the next twelve hours doing the work of a grown woman at the 'Drover's Rest'; sweeping, scrubbing, washing, hauling wood and fetching water, waiting on tables, making beds, and any other task that Mrs. Jacobsen saw needed doing in that bleak yet bustling establishment.

In the evenings, when the drudgery of the day was over, Katie climbed up to the attic where she slept. Sore and aching, ill-treated and under-fed, she was sustained by the comfort she found waiting for her there in the pages of her book. It had been a gift from her mother's brother, and when things were darkest, the book murmured to her that the Prince would soon come and deliver her from durance vile. Every night it bolstered her courage and offered hope of better days.

For the stories were about her, of course. The child taken by gypsies, the cruelly-mistreated stepdaughter, the princess disguised as a goosegirl—she recognized herself in all of them. In the book, whenever danger was greatest and the situation most dire, the gallant Prince came riding to the rescue. Was she not trapped by an evil spell? And would not the powers of love and magic prevail, surely? Though she lay prisoner in the witch's castle, her Prince was always with her, a courtly and comforting presence in the shadows.

Until the awful day she looked up from scouring the second-floor landing to see Mrs. Jacobsen descending from the attic with Uncle Mike's present in her hand. "Little girls who stay up all night reading can't attend to their work properly," stated that worthy lady, grimly.

"Please give me my book back!" begged poor Katie. She threw herself in front of her employer and vainly reached for the little green-backed volume. Mrs. Jacobsen knocked her out of the way and continued down the stairs to the kitchen.

"You can have it if you want it bad enough," said she, pushing the book deep into the stove. And Katie listened to the greedy flames eat up her treasure, and wept.

When merciful night finally settled over the hotel, she sat down on the floor next to the canned-goods box that served as her dresser and fished out a grimy sheet of paper and a bit of pencil. She knew better than to appeal to Tim O'Connor, but she could write her mother. Denny Briggs who worked at the livery would post it for her, if she asked him. That was the only way she could get a message home, for Mrs. Jacobsen didn't hold with the hired help writing letters.

Her candle-end was starting to gutter, so Katie licked the tip of the pencil and began scribbling. When she was done, she dripped a bit of the wax to seal the letter as best she could and tucked it into her apron. Next morning when Denny leaned over the fence to tease her while she was feeding the hens, she slipped it to him without Mrs. Jacobsen seeing.

Now it happened that the mail train between Saddlestring and Buffalo stopped regularly for water at a switchback halfway up the mountain. On this particular day it stopped longer than usual, a circumstance occasioned by the presence of a dozen armed, mounted riders positioned athwart the tracks. Since these gentlemen were members of that infamous band known as the Devil's Hole gang, and since both Hannibal Heyes and "Kid" Curry were very much in evidence, this should have elicited a certain degree of personal prudence on the part of the train crew.

Which virtue, sadly, did not manifest itself. There was a brief, desperate fight, and the Kid, being young and nimble-footed, was only slightly shot by a brakeman (who was carried eastward to a doctor next day, and eventually recovered). The Kid philosophically bound up his forearm and turned his attention to helping with the mail sacks. But although all of them were examined quite carefully and a number of the heavier ones slit open, the money so confidently sought was not forthcoming. So, after heaping maledictions on the absent head of the express agent who had, all unknowing, misled them, the gang courteously allowed the train to continue on a mere fifteen minutes behind schedule, and departed.

Those who rob and ride away, live to rob another day, and they pushed the horses hard to put a sufficient number of miles between themselves and the scene of their disappointment. When finally they stopped to rest and check their back trail, the leader glanced down and frowned to see that he had inadvertently carried a small trophy away with him.

An errant gust of wind must have blown it out of one of the sacks, and wedged it between his foot and the stirrup. The envelopewas worn and dirty, secured with candle wax and marred by a single blotched tear stain on the front, next to the address penned in a childish hand. Stirred by an idle impulse, he slid a finger beneath the flap and opened it up to read aloud.

_Dearest mother: This may be the last letter I write to you. _

He paused, aware that all eyes were now fixed upon him.

_I want so bad to see you and the boys and Annie. Please ask daddy to let me come home. Mrs. Jacobsen hit me today and I got no supper. She burned my book, the one Uncle Michael gave me for Christmas. I try very hard but there is so much work to do. I didn't think it was wrong for me to read the book. I only read a little every night. _

Someone—probably Kyle—made a sympathetic noise, a strangled sound somewhere between a gulp and a whimper.

_I want to come home but if I can't I am going to the deep place by the river to drown. It is a mortal sin and I don't want to go to Hell but I am always so tired and I miss you. Your ob'dt daughter, Katherine O'Connor._

There was a silence, and then Heyes cleared his throat. "Well, now—" he began.

"You ain't, "said the Kid with great firmness.

"Ain't what?"

"Ain't goin' to ride down to Saddlestring and look for her. Be a tom-fool thing to do, Heyes, since the sheriff there knows us, remember?" The Kid gravely shook his head. "None of our business, anyhow, so best we get started for Devil's Hole, right now. Besides, I figure there's a posse'll be leavin' out of Buffalo real soon."

"Since when did you get so all-fired eager to get back to the Hole?"

"Maybe since we hit the bank at Saddlestring two months ago an' the folks in that town would just purely love to see us again," Wheat interjected.

"But…but Kid," said Kyle worriedly. "She says she's goin' to chuck herself in the river!"

"No, she ain't. Little girls don't kill themselves just 'cos they're tired an' hungry." The Kid was positive.

Kyle's face assumed a mournful aspect.

"Or because somebody slaps them around."

Kyle looked even more mournful, if that were possible.

"Or because they're homesick or they're worked too hard or people take their storybooks away an' put 'em in the fire—"

"All right, all right!" Heyes cut him off. "Jim, you been down to Saddlestring a few times. Know these people?"

The gang member thus addressed nodded. "They own the hotel there. That ol' woman's tighter'n the bark on a tree." He spat a dark-brown stream of tobacco juice for emphasis.

"How far are they away from the sheriff's office?" Heyes asked.

Jim picked up a stick and began drawing a map in the dirt. The rest of the gang exhaled gently, and Kyle perked up and left off resembling a small owl that has just lost his last field mouse.

"Reckon the best way to get Heyes to do somethin'," muttered Wheat crossly, "is to tell him he shouldn't do it."

"Reckon you're right," said the Kid, poker-faced.

There were dark deeds done that night at the 'Drover's Rest'; and when it was all over, a startled child looked up from her bed to see a spurred and booted cavalier standing at top of the attic stairs. His wide-brimmed hat was pushed to the back of his head and he smiled at her with great sweetness.

"Good evenin', Miss O'Connor," he said. And in his voice she heard a gonfalon echo of Roland, winding his horn beneath the dark tower.

"Oh," breathed Katie. "I knew you'd come!"

The sun's first rays next morning shone down the O'Connor cabin, and on a small bundle on the doorstep, sound asleep. It was this sight met the eyes of Mrs. O'Connor when she sallied forth to start her daily round of chores.

"Katie!" Her joyful screams brought her husband out, suspenders flapping and face half shaved.

"Mother of God, woman, is it Indians scalpin' ye?" He saw Katie and scowled. "What are ye doin' here, girl? Did ye run away, ye little—"

"No, I didn't! I didn't, daddy, I swear!"

"But how did you come here, _acushla_?" asked Mrs. O'Connor.

"The Prince brought me," said Katie.

A statement which, as might be expected, gave her loving parents pause. But only for a moment.

"Ye lyin' scut! Tell me the truth, now!" Tim O'Connor roared, but his daughter was undaunted.

"It was the Prince from Uncle Mike's book, honest it was!" Her eyes shone. "Last night he came, riding boldly on his charger with his knights all around him, just like in the stories. They stormed the castle, and they put Mr. Jacobsen into the horse trough and locked Mrs. Jacobsen in the cellar, and everyone else ran away from them."

She sighed in blissful recollection.

"I was scared at first, but then the Prince came upstairs and he was so tall and strong and kind. He wrapped me up in Mrs. Jacobsen's best quilt and said he was taking me home, and he put me up in front of him on his horse and I fell asleep. And when I woke up I was here!" She buried her face in her mother's apron front and began to cry from sheer happiness.

There was also the matter of the five twenty-dollar gold pieces they found wrapped in a twist of paper and knotted into the hem of her dress. Katie insisted it was the Prince. Mrs. O'Connor swore it was the blessed angels.

Tim O'Connor said nothing, but after that he kept Katie at home and even began to treat her with a certain consideration. He put not his trust in princes, not for a minute; but if one _was_ in the vicinity, a man would be wise to stay on his good side.


End file.
